Chapter Fifteen
James stalked through the garden, not paying attention to anything around him. He didn’t give a damn about flowers or morning dew or chirping birds. Right now he was alive with frustration and an anger he couldn’t fully process. All he knew was that he had been kept awake all night by both. And every time he did find sleep?
He dreamed of Emma. Emma in his arms. Emma opening to him. Taking Emma.
Alternating between blind rage and a cockstand was not a pleasant way to fill the hours.
He careened around a corner and came to a stop. Standing there, staring up at the house, was Simon. “Crestwood?”
Simon started, turning toward him with a flush to his cheeks that almost looked guilty. “James, didn’t see you there. You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” James admitted. “Looks as though you couldn’t, either.”
Simon shrugged. “It’s a regular affliction for me lately, it seems. Walk with me?”
James stepped in beside his friend. “What troubles you?”
“Nothing that can be fixed,” Simon said, his tone very soft but also hard as steel. “What about you?”
“I’m sure you and Northfield have already discussed my problems at length,” James muttered.
Simon hesitated and then nodded. “Yes, if nothing else we are able to talk about you. He mentioned you’re struggling with…with this ruse you’ve decided to play out with Emma Liston.”
A ruse. James almost laughed. It seemed from the very beginning it had been more than a mere ruse.
“I don’t like feeling this way,” he admitted softly.
“Which way?” Simon asked.
“Like I’m having something taken from me. It isn’t even something I want.”
Simon came to a halt in the pathway and folded his arms. There was a snap to his expression, a hard line to his mouth, and he glared at James. “You aren’t having something taken from you. Trust me, I know that feeling and this is not it. You are surrendering something. You fear it, so you’ll just let it go. Throw it away like it means nothing when it’s obvious it means everything.”
James stared. Normally Graham was the one who provided blunt words and hard advice, while Simon softened everything to make it more palatable. But in that moment, Simon almost looked like he wanted to hit James.
“It wasn’t supposed to be—”
“Oh, fuck supposed to be, James. Damn it!” Simon spun away, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve spent your life trying to live up to and run away from your father’s legacy. And now you’re willing to lose something…” He looked back at the house. “Lose something worthwhile just to make a point to a dead man. Well, if that’s what you want to do, you don’t deserve to have it.”
James drew back farther. “Simon…”
“Forget it,” his friend grunted. “Just forget I said anything. Grimble was looking for you earlier. I’ll…I’m sorry.”
Without another word, Simon turned and stomped off, not toward the house, but the stables. James watched him go, both troubled by his words and confused by the passion with which they had been spoken.
He finally walked to the house, Simon’s voice still ringing in his head. His friend was, for all intents and purposes, calling him a coward.
Worse, he felt like Simon might be right.
He entered the house and Grimble rushed to greet him. The butler’s face was pale and he looked apologetic. James steeled himself for whatever trouble had been caused by whichever houseguest.
“I hear you’ve been looking for me, Grimble,” he said, forcing his tone to be even as he shrugged from his heavier outer coat and handed it off to the servant.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you with this, sir. I had no idea what else to do.”
James wrinkled his brow. Grimble was normally cool as anything, but his stammering words and sweaty brow put James on high alert.
“I’m certain whatever it is that has happened, we can work it out. Tell me what’s amiss,” he said, making his tone calmer to reassure the man.
Grimble clenched his hands together in front of him. “We have an arrival, Your Grace. And he was insistent he must join the party. It took everything in me to convince him he must wait for your approval. But he’s very loud, sir, and increasingly demanding, and I—”
James held up a hand to stay Grimble. “Who?” he asked. “You said an arrival, but we are certainly not expecting anyone else at the party. So, who is it who has intruded?”
“Mr. Harold Liston, sir,” Grimble ground out.
James straightened at the name. His lips parted in surprise. “Miss Emma Liston’s father?” he breathed.
Grimble nodded once. “Yes.”
“Do Mrs. Liston or Miss Liston know that he has arrived?” he asked, thinking of Emma’s quiet confession on the dancefloor, of her palpable fear when she talked of this very man not twelve hours before.
Grimble swallowed hard before he said, “It is still very early and I did not think they’d yet be up, sir. Though Mr. Liston was demanding he and his trunks simply be taken to his wife’s chamber.”
James ran a hand through his hair. “It would give the woman an apoplexy. But they must be told. Have someone go up and fetch them. I assume Mr. Liston has been put in a parlor?”
“Yes, sir,” Grimble answered.
“Good, then he isn’t roaming the house. So have the Liston women brought there as soon as they are able. The servant sent does not have to say that Mr. Liston is here. Have the person who escorts them knock twice and I will join them in the hall and tell them this news myself.”
Grimble didn’t seem at all surprised by this strange directive. He simply nodded. “I shall, sir. What else can I do?”
“Just tell me where Liston is,” he said.
“The blue room.”
James strode off from him without another word, down the long, twisting hall until he reached the blue room. Even before he got there, he heard the intruder inside, moving around and talking very loudly to himself.
James set his shoulders back and pushed open the door. As he did so, a man turned from the fireplace and looked at him. James could see the resemblance right away. Emma had inherited those eyes from her father, though Liston’s were not as alive nor as kind as his daughter’s.
“The Duke of Abernathe,” Liston said, the slight slur to his words telling James that the man was drunk despite the early hour.
Of course, James wasn’t one to judge. His own mother was likely still in her stupor, as well. But then, she hadn’t intruded upon a private party, nor was she threatening anyone at present, unlike James’s unwanted houseguest.
“You should fire that butler of yours,” Liston continued. “Rude bastard. He wouldn’t allow me up to see my own wife.”
James lifted his chin. “You have no quarrel with my butler. Grimble has done exactly as I would wish him to do. As you were not on the guest list for our party, he was not about to give you access to the home or our guests until I had approved it.”
Liston straightened up and glared at him. “So I must gain your approval, then, boy?”
James’s nostrils flared and he moved forward a long step. “Do not forget yourself, sir, nor the disparity of our rank. I am the Duke of Abernathe and I shall be treated as such, or you shall be removed in a matter that you won’t find comfortable.”
Liston seemed to consider that statement and inclined his head. “Certainly, Your Grace. I apologize for my rudeness. I have just been made to wait for over half an hour and I would only like to see my family.”
James clenched his hands at his sides. Liston was doing what he could to make himself look good. James knew better what the truth of him was.
“Mrs. Liston and your daughter will join us shortly,” he said softly. “But as they are guests in my home, I am responsible for them. I must ascertain what your intentions are in coming here.”
Liston’s eyes narrowed. “He said you were circling. Not that you could have any true intentions.”
“He?”
“Sir Archibald,” Liston said with a cool smile.
James took a step closer as his body went cold. Archibald, whom he had sent away not a week before for his nastiness toward Emma. The idea that that viper had run straight to Liston was troubling, indeed, considering what he’d said about their shared gambling habit.
“What do you want here?” James said.
Liston’s smile faltered a little and he folded his arms. “I want to see my wife and my daughter, Your Grace. You see, I have news for them. News they will both wish to hear. And it is not news I have any intention of giving to you. So why don’t you simply get them here?”
Emma looked at her reflection in the mirror as Sally made the last few adjustments on her hairstyle. The maid had been chattering all morning as she did her duties, but Emma had hardly attended. Her thoughts kept going back to James.
As they always seemed to do now.
“But last night was so successful for you, Miss Emma.”
Emma blinked as her attention was brought back to her servant. She frowned. “I assume that means Mama’s maid is telling you whatever my mother said?”
Sally shrugged. “Claudia and I share a room in the servant quarters and she has never been reserved.”
“It is why she and my mother get along so well,” Emma muttered. “Yes, I suppose last night’s ball went well. I danced regularly.”
Sally’s smile was bright. “That must be a relief. You will have some options for a future.”
Emma stared at her reflection again. A relief? No, she didn’t exactly feel relief. Nor happiness in her current circumstances. She should, but that didn’t make it so.
There was a knock on the door, and she sighed as she rose and nodded to Sally to answer. It was her mother on the other side, and she looked far too excited for Emma’s taste.
“Good morning, Mama,” Emma said, moving toward the entryway. “I didn’t expect to see you up so soon.”
Mrs. Liston grinned. “I would not have been, except that you and I have been summoned by Abernathe.”
Emma caught her breath as she stared at her mother. Slowly, she turned and nodded at Sally. “That—that will be all,” she managed to choke out.
Sally looked disappointed that she wouldn’t get to listen in, but bobbed out a curtsey and slipped from the room.
“You look miserable,” her mother snapped when they were alone. “Didn’t you hear me? I said the Duke of Abernathe has asked for our presence. Together!”
Emma could hardly hear over the rush of blood in her veins, but she tried to keep herself calm. “Did he say what he wished to discuss with us?”
“No,” her mother conceded, “but there could only be one thing.”
“And what is that?” Emma whispered.
Her mother slapped her arm. “He wishes to ask for your hand, Emma. It could be nothing else.”
Emma had a moment where her entire body filled with joy. That joy revealed a truth she had been trying to fight for so long. She wasn’t falling in love with the man—she did love him already. Worse, she wanted a future with him.
But that didn’t mean she thought her mother was correct in her assessment of the situation. James had made it abundantly clear he had no intention of offering for her. And she had been trying to accept that and position herself for some other future.
“I would not bank everything on that,” Emma said. “There could be many topics Jam—Abernathe would want to discuss with us.”
Her mother smiled in triumph at her near-slip of using James’s given name so freely. “I don’t think so. Come, we must not keep him waiting a moment longer.”
She clasped Emma’s arm and all but dragged her down the hall and the stairs to the main level of the house. At the bottom of those stairs, a servant awaited them.
“His Grace is waiting for you in the blue room,” the young man said. “Please follow me.”
He turned and guided them through the long halls. As they followed, Mrs. Liston gripped Emma’s arm tighter. “You see. Such formality!” she said in a stage whisper that could likely be heard four rooms away. “It can be nothing less than a proposal.”
Emma’s cheeks flared with heat. “Please don’t make a scene, Mama,” she whispered. “We know nothing. Let us not act like fools.”
The servant stopped at a closed door, shot them a look over his shoulder and then rapped twice. To Emma’s surprise, he didn’t then enter, but waited in the hallway for the few seconds it took for James to answer.
James glanced into the hall, nodded to his servant and stepped out to join them. He shut the door behind himself and waved the footman off.
Once he was gone, James smiled at first Emma, then her bouncing mother. Emma’s chest tightened and her throat closed. He looked very upset. Something was wrong.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said. “Thank you for joining me.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Mrs. Liston said, grinning at him. Emma fought to hold back a sigh. Her mother clearly had no observational skills in the moment. She was so wrapped up in this proposal she believed was forthcoming, she couldn’t read James’s frown, the darkness in his stare, the increasingly gentle tone he used, like he was leading someone to their grave.
“What is it?” Emma whispered, holding his stare.
For a moment, his gaze faltered and darted away, but then he brought it back to her and held firm. She saw his hand stir at his side like he wanted to touch her, and in that wild moment she wished he could. She wanted to cling to him, to steady herself with this strength.
But she couldn’t.
“There is no easy way to say this,” he said. “So I will simply state it. You have a visitor who has come to this house to see you. A man I fear neither of you may wish to see.”
Emma felt herself swaying. “Who?”
“Mr. Harold Liston,” James whispered. “Emma, your father is here.”